


Alistair Hawke

by GrumpkinVicky



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Family Secrets, Gen, Memory Loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:29:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23294032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrumpkinVicky/pseuds/GrumpkinVicky
Summary: All it took was the dead Arishok falling on Alistair and knocking him for his memory to finally return.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter 1

He remembered everything. He remembered every little thing as if it happened only yesterday. He’d been barely eighteen, and he had killed a man by not giving him the key when he had begged. He couldn’t remember the crime, but he could hear the sorrow and fear.

“Alistair?” Fenris was giving him a concerned look. Concerned or annoyed. 

“Mmm?” Alistair couldn’t help but look down at the curiously bloody floor. He’d lost five years. Five whole years. 

“Hero, Broody’s asking if the Arishok hit your head too hard?” Alistair could feel the blood trickling down his face. The blow had come at the end, it wasn’t even that the Arishok, the former Arishok, had even caught him. His dying body had done the damage, Alistair had been too close as the Qunari had gone down.

Noise faded into buzzing, he couldn’t look up, couldn’t see the people he’d been lying to for the last five years. Carver was here, his brother, and Bethany, how could he look at her again. They’d already lost so much, and now he was going to rip away another from their small family. 

“You can’t do that!” the sound of outrage broke through the fuzz, forcing him to look up to see that Stannard had finally arrived. Rutherford was looking mad, Rutherford, oh Maker, if he’d just made friends with Rutherford years before none of this would have happened.

“Hero, Anders can’t come in, Stannard is out for blood,” Varric was hissing in his ear, “You need to just do this last thing, and we can get you home, I promise.” 

The bark of pained laughter silenced the crowd of people, he couldn’t go home, he didn’t have a home. He’d have to hand himself over to Weisshaupt - Anders! Anders was a Warden too, and he was here. He needed to talk to Anders, and Anders couldn’t come in, so he would have to go to Anders.

“Alistair?” Carver sounded concerned.

“I need to go back to the house,” He gave Carver a strained smile, it wasn’t home anymore. It couldn’t be, it was their family home, and he wasn’t family.

“Hero, you need to say something now,” Varric hissed in his ear again as it looked like Carver had been punched. What could Alistair say, here, in front of everyone? Standing over the corpse of the Qunari who had tried to tear one of their own away purely for revenge.

“Alistair, Champion of Kirkwall, what say you?” Stannard was sneering at him.

“Our Champion,” A voice behind him cried, Fenris stepping up to shield his right side.

“They want you to pick a leader,” His most stalwart friend muttered softly, the words masked by the thrum of the crowd.

“He’s not even cold,” Alistair couldn’t help but glance at the corpse of the Viscount.

“If you don’t speak now, she’ll never let it happen, it’s what she’s been waiting for.” Varric had his back against Alistair’s.

“It seems as if the Champion -” Stannard had grown tired of waiting it seemed.

“Carver Hawke, Carver Hawke the current Lord Amell, he will be the Viscount.” Alistair cut across her, unable to look at the man he’d just thrown the responsibility of a whole city at. 

“I hardly think -” She started again, looking outraged by the mere suggestion.

“Carver Hawke has good standing in the City,” Rutherford had to have a death wish, but his addition was soon drowned out by a sea of Nobles all clamouring behind the young Lord.

“The Guard supports the choice, Champion.” Alistair almost crashed to the floor as Aveline stepped up. Aveline who had screamed at him not hours before about trusting Isabella, Aveline who had been part of his family for the last five years. Aveline who would be as betrayed by this as the twins.

“Carver Hawke is a fine young man who has worked tirelessly for the city. He is a good choice Champion,” Stannard looked ready to kill as Sebastian appeared with the Grand Cleric. “Meredith, perhaps you can help aid in cleaning up the city, the First Enchanter has offered his services already.” 

“Grand Cleric.” 

Someone else spoke, but not even Fenris could keep him propped up for much longer. “Shit, Broody, we need to get him out of here!” a shriek, and then the world went blissfully dark and quiet.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How it began

“‘Tis good stew, made with the finest of rabbits,” Alistair knew he shouldn’t have trusted Morrigan. Cousland seemed beguiled by her, how - how had out of all of those lost at Ostagar had Alistair and Cousland made it out alive.

“Come now Alistair, we called truce.” He couldn’t find the energy to fight, Duncan was dead. The Wardens were dead. They were blamed for the massacre at Ostagar, there was a bounty on their heads. He’d aided in the release of a dangerous criminal who didn’t even seem to want to be freed.

They had adopted a crazy redheaded sister. Alistair was sure she’d sniffed too much incense, the only explanation as to the belief that the Maker actually spoke to her. Cousland had forced a situation where they had killed desperate men, he’d heard rumours that he’d even helped a merchant scamming the villagers. This was what his life had come to. 

Alistair had tried to help, he had. He’d fought through the bleak grey that filled his soul, to be part of the team, to keep stepping forward. Alistair tried to help a young lad who’d lost his mother, how could he return to tell him that his mother was dead, in some ways he had been grateful for Morrigan’s lack of tact. 

“Do as you please, if you will not eat it, then I am sure the hound will be most grateful, she does seem to like rabbit, if the gifts she left me is anything to be of consequence.” She’d left him, sat on the outskirts of the campfire, staring out into the gloom.

They had killed a group of farmers, for the crime of wanting coin, then saved a merchant, to sell the few belongings that the farmers had before the bodies were cold. Duncan had honour, had instilled honour in the men and women who fought alongside and for him. Alistair had failed at even that.

He barely noticed eating the stew, lost in the spiralling shame and horror. Behind him, the sound of chatter and laughter as Cousland told another tale of the glory days of being a second son to a rich and noble family. They were the same age, and yet Alistair felt so much older. Cousland could laugh, could flirt, could carry on regardless, and Alistair, all he wanted to do was roll over and die. 

Pebbles came to keep him company for a while, flopping down by his side. There was no space in a tent for a hound and a wench. Cousland’s priorities were never more explicit than in that moment. 

“Stay, I won’t be long.” He hoped, the stew had passed through rather more violently than he liked. Pebbles lifted her head, huffed and lowered it again. Good enough, he wouldn’t be too far away should any darkspawn get too close. The last thing he needed was to be accused of sabotage by the witchy witch. 

It took two hours of voiding into a stinking bog before he could stand up straight. Maker did he feel rough, his water had done little, the elfroot helping only with his head, doing nothing for the churning storm in his body, as it poured out like a waterfall. Cursed Warden appetite, he’d be paying for this for days.

The night air was cold, and misty, no darkspawn for small mercies. The stones slippy underfoot as he travelled, tracking the faint feel of taint that would guide him back to Cousland. He should really tell him about all the fun stuff he was yet to encounter. It would fall to Alistair, who knew more than most young Wardens thanks to Duncan, but not enough.

“So, nightmares, fun, right?” Was that too casual? He tried practising on Pebbles who seemed to listen. “Oh yes, see drinking that bloody cocktail back then, well it gave you superpowers. They can see you too, great, isn’t it?” 

“You probably haven’t noticed yet, but you will, the gaping hole inside your chest that no matter how much you eat never fills. Well, learn to eat dense food quick, I find cheese helps, whole wheels of it.” Then there was the perhaps more awkward conversation about how if Cousland wanted to create a new generation of little Couslands, well… no he had that covered by the sounds of it. The very vocal sounds, was that the touched one or the witch? Did it matter. 

“Ignorance is bliss, isn’t it?” He settled down next to Pebbles, “That’s what the Chantry kept telling me, anyhow.” She huffed again, sending cold air up his sleeve. “Hey now, no need for that.”

The silence crept over the camp as the sounds of mating ceased. Had they been trying to prove a point? Duncan had claimed that some Wardens liked to prove that they were still alive, and it was a pleasurable way to do so. He hadn’t made Alistair feel bad about not having done so, not in the same way he knew the witch would.

“She thinks it odd that your man is the leader when I am Senior. Duncan told me, that where he came from there is a saying, a cat does not bark at the moon, and a wolf will not climb a tree. Or a Mabari, although if any Mabari could learn to climb it would be you, wouldn’t it girl.” He ran his fingers through her short fur, scratching at the spot he’d seen Cousland do until she let out a small whumph.

“You didn’t get to meet her mother, did you, girl? You missed out, although, just imagine Morrigan looking older. The nose is the same, give it a few hundred years, and she’ll be the spit of her. Think I should tell her?” there was a whine from Pebbles, “No, best not, she’d just turn me into a frog and then use me for one of her smelly concoctions.”

“How odd, we now have a dog, and you are still the dumbest one in the party,” 

“How odd, you have already used that line once today.” Pebbles whined as Morrigan sniffed.

“Take care, you never know when you might get eaten by a spider.” She stalked into the darkness.

“Are you going to follow her?” He scratched behind Pebble’s ears. “No, I guess it should fall to the spare to risk life and limb for the witch who couldn’t care less.” The soft whine made him grin. “Don’t let anyone tell you that you aren’t the cutest most adorable puppy ever,”

After that, it was a bit of a blur, he remembered following to make sure the witch didn’t come to any harm. Or not that he could prevent, and then nothing. Nothing at all, until that moment when he’d felt the overwhelming urge to flee and fight. The call of the darkspawn, a mass of them that whispered sweet terror in the early morning light. 

The corpse, Garrett, the one who was supposed to be his twin. Chest ripped open, Carver and Bethany valiantly holding the front against a mob of darkspawn, and Aveline, staunch fierce protector, guarding their back. 

He hadn’t known then what he was. He hadn’t known anything besides his name, Alistair. Duncan had insisted on all of the Wardens under his command having it etched into armour, stitched into smalls and tunics. For when there was nothing left to identify. 

He hadn’t known, but his instincts had him tearing through the small horde like a man possessed. Perhaps in that moment he was possessed by the Warden, the tiny part of him that knew the truth. He saved them, he did his duty as a Warden without even knowing he had one to do.

“We thank you,” Carver had stepped forward, stretching his arm out to be gripped, a fine Ferelden greeting. 

“Alistair,” there was an exchange of names as Leandra insisted on Bethany setting her elder brother ablaze. Perhaps it should have been a sign, the way that Carver’s knuckles had whitened, and Bethany had looked dead in the eyes. 

Ser Wesley, even now he could see the look in Aveline’s eyes as she asked for help, from a stranger to aid her with the burden she faced. There were few things to be proud of from that day, but the look of peace in his eyes, the way that Alistair had supported the woman, holding her upright as her legs trembled. How he, Carver and Bethany had kept them moving forward as Leandra resisted.

How had he missed the look that Flemeth had given him, nor that of Leandra? The two women had spoken quietly in the corner over the corpse of an Ogre, watching him like cats with the stable mice. But Alistair had been too busy, keeping Aveline from throwing herself into danger.

“You are a Templar?” Bethany had asked him outright, as Carver scowled in the way that made Alistair smile now. 

“I have no memory of my life until today. I don’t know who or what I am, other than I am Alistair.” She’d giggled, a pure sound in the sea of death, as he pulled his tunic up enough to flash her the name sewn into his smalls.

“Well, well… what have we here?” Alistair had felt the icy chill of remembrance, words uttered before to him, though only looking back he knew where. 

“I wondered who had performed a feat as to kill an ogre. It is most curious, is it fate or chance that has you here at this moment?” Flemeth moved away from Leandra. “It matters not, if you were fleeing from the darkspawn, you are going the wrong way.”

And for the price of a promise to deliver an amulet… as she had said, “the struggles had only just begun.” 

How he hated her, hated Morrigan, and yet at the same time, she and Leandra, the three of them had given Alistair something so precious that he could hardly begin to hate them for it.

In that moment, where Leandra had stepped forth and proclaimed loudly that he was her son. That he, Alistair, had been found. That he had been found by family, and that the man, Garrett who he had been too late to save, had been his brother - his twin no less.

How blind he had been? How swept up in the moment? To suddenly have a history, a family in the sea of all the death and accept it as truth? Even now, even with his memory, he wasn’t sure if he would have done anything different. To be wanted, to be accepted, that was truly what he had been searching for his whole life.

Now, none of them would ever forgive him. Not now. Not when the woman, the women, who had started all of this were too out of reach for blame. How could he despoil the memory of Leandra, poor tragic Leandra who had begun to live outside in the world only to be caught up in it’s horrific nature.

No. Alistair would live with this. Family was made, forged in the fires of adversity, forged by loss, love and life. They had battled the blight together, they had battled slavers together, the chantry, the mercenaries, blood mages, ancient spirits and the Qunari. No matter what, Carver was his brother, and Bethany his sister, for now and forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised myself 3 wips on the go at one time. I kept looking at this and thinking I could explore everything that happened in between, but I never do. Instead, I know what happened, and I feel like it's better if people can imagine for themselves - a much better story that way.

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this since Jan, I thought I would share it because I am nice ;)


End file.
